#but he just remembers that solas was nice to him. and his aunt had been happy when they were together

[lavellane]

not a big fan of the solavellan baby concept for a bunch of reasons but i will say that i gave ashara the next best thing ie a 5yo baby nephew during inquisition whom she ADORES like a son and who is now gonna be like 17 in veilguard :) his name is sumahl and one of his core memories was seeing the skyhold rotunda when he was little and being introduced to solas who talked to him while he painted and maybe even taught him a little of the technique as well. anyway.

[5lazarus]

Ligaments

Summary: Briala has loaded her dice when playing the Game. Gaspard throws her in prison, but her message goes out to both the Dread Wolf, keen to better his reputation for catastrophe amongst the elves of Orlais, and the Dalish Inquisitor, who is still reeling from the loss of her arm. “We do not necessarily know he is the enemy,” Leliana says. “And it is exciting, no? To have that rush of danger and destruction between every kiss.” Warnings: Prisons, PTSD. Read on AO3 here.

“We do not necessarily know he is the enemy,” Leliana says. “And it is exciting, no? To have that rush of danger and destruction between every kiss.” Lavellan eyes her doubtfully. “He ripped my arm off, Leliana,” she says. “And you kissed him while you did it,” Leliana returns. The two women keep walking, and Lavellan casts a look behind her to see who exactly is following them. One of Leliana’s scouts tucks themselves out of view, just a fraction too late. She sees their shadow, and smiles. The elvhen district of Halamshiral, called the Dirthavaren, has recovered since Marquise Briala has taken the reins. News of her arrest has not yet left the palace. Even the Divine does not technically know: but Leliana has left off her hat today, and Leliana knows everything. The guards will descend upon Briala’s court in two days, unless they act, and Lavellan intends to act now. “I thought she’d trust me enough to tell me,” Lavellan mourns. “I understand the need for caution, but that she warned the Dread Wolf before me--” “She wanted him exposed,” Leliana says. “So Charter claims. If he did not act to help one of the last living hopes of Elvhenan, it would discredit him amongst his followers. And Briala is jealous of her recruits. I do not believe she thought he would act on this information.” She can play the Game as well as even the Marquise and the Dread Wolf, if not better. She is not in prison, and while some are calling her a living god, her people love her. Gaspard is holding the elves of Orlais hostage. She will not let them purge another alienage--she is playing to win. “She’s not dead yet,” Lavellan says. They reach the riverbank and turn onto the bridge where Charter said they’d meet. A man stands at the center, leaning on the railing. He gazes out onto the city, the Dirthavaren, the Promise. A seagull pulls inquiringly at his sleeve. Irritated, he brushes it away, and as the bird flies off with a squawk he turns around. Lavellan presses her lip into a thin line: Solas is still wearing the shirt her aunt made him. Solas, for his part, only flicks his eyes away and bows slightly. “Divine Victoria,” he says quietly. “Inquisitor. Thank you for agreeing to meet.” Leliana is staring at his feet. He is wearing shoes. Lavellan can see the wheels turning in Leliana’s head, and is looking forward to hearing her character assasination over a glass of wine, if Gaspard doesn’t kill them all first. They are relatively nice boots, well-worn, a bit muddy. It has rained recently, so that makes sense. Leliana will be able to tell her exactly where the mud comes from, of course, and if he’s killed anyone in their sleep recently, and exactly how often he cries himself to sleep, if he cries at all. Lavellan says, “Let’s leave the pleasantries aside, shall we? You know where Briala is being held. Her agents told yours--your singular agent, because recruitment isn’t going particularly well, is it?” Solas frowns and folds his arms. Rejoicing in his disapproval, Lavellan continues, “No matter--we have the schema of the palace. And my agents can get us in.” Specifically her mother-in-law can sneak them in, since she moved to organize Briala’s clerks in her court, and she is honestly looking forward to Manon taking the Dread Wolf’s measure. Leliana nudges her gently: play nice. “I have the clothes,” Leliana says. “The costumes, since we do all know how much you like to dress up.” A smile ghosts across Solas’ face. “I am quite curious to see how you’ll dress me.” “Not in a wig,” Leliana says. “Blond is not your color.” Both he and Lavellan laugh. Solas looks at her under his lashes, and Lavellan schools the smile off her face. She had been incredulous and delighted when Charter told them. He had clearly done it to make them laugh. He always liked to perform for her: likes, she thinks, he still likes to. She eyes him, considering. What is he getting out of this? Leliana thinks she can wheedle it out. “Let’s go,” Lavellan says forcibly. “We do not know how much longer we have, and I’d like to spare our sister as much suffering as we can. They only leave you alone the first day, to get you scared.” They torture the ones in the cells next to you, to set the mood. Lavellan brushes the gashes on her face, remembering, and then she makes herself stop.  Leliana and Solas look at her, concerned. Irritated, she snaps, “Let’s go. We haven’t much time left.” They cross the bridge and leave the Dirthavaren behind them, and Leliana guides them to one of her many safehouses. She leaves them with their costumes and closes the door behind them. Solas says, “Alas, no wig. But she is right: blond is not my color.” Lavellan ignores him and strips out of her tunic. The servant’s dress is a bit hard to lace up, and the sleeve snags in the metal ligaments of her prosthetic. It tears. “Fuck,” she says, helpless. She counts: one, two, three, and breathes past it, and tugs her sleeve out. She stretches her metal arm out and splays the fingers. They’re too clumsy to do up buttons and tighten stays. She stands in her dress and waits. Solas silently changes his clothes. He keeps the wolf-bone necklace on. She catches him staring at her. “I don’t need your help,” she says. “I was not offering it,” he says mildly. Before Lavellan can snap back, Leliana returns with a tub of greasepaint. She eyes Solas and turns to Lavellan. Wordlessly, Lavellan turns, to get her to do up the back. Leliana buttons and ties her into the dress, and buttons her cuffs. “We’ll need to cover your scars,” she says. “And your vallaslin.” “Absolutely not,” Lavellan says immediately. Leliana says, “I understand your discomfort, but a Dalish elf with large gashes across her face is recognizable, no matter how nondescript we dress her. You are no longer invisible, Inquisitor. And we cannot afford to dawdle.” Lavellan says repressively, “Of course. Make it quick.” Leliana paints her face, and she is struck by how surreal her life has become. The Divine is painting over her vallaslin while the Dread Wolf watches. She glances at him, and to his credit he does not offer up a smile. He looks sad. He always looks sad. Leliana is kind enough not to offer her a mirror. She pulls out the map of the Winter Palace, and shows them the route they must take. Lavellan brushes against Solas’ shoulder as they lean in. Solas shies away. “You’ll enter the catacombs from here and walk along the aqueduct to Briala’s offices. Gaspard believes he has them sealed, but he does not know about the servants’ passageways within the very walls of the elvhen quarter of the palace.” Leliana traces her finger down the map. “Manon will meet you where the paths intersect under the Great Hall, and show you how to climb above to the cells.” Lavellan blinks. “So they keep the torture chambers right about the ballroom? How utterly Orlesian.” Leliana says, “It is quite a performance. Some dances are choreographed around the screams. No one knows quite where prisoners are held, of course. Or they pretend not to know. But others have broken free before, and I am confident that the two of you can move her out. And once she has claimed asylum with the Chantry, I can act, and charge Gaspard as an enemy of the faith.” “And then you will grant the petition of the Council of Heralds to let him free,” Solas says, “and put the Duke Cyril de Montfort in his place, who is less interested in wracking his country with civil war and pogroms and will stand strong against the Qun.” “Surely your distaste for the Qun isn’t the only reason you’re here,” Lavellan remarks. “And you have pretended at length not to care about what the People think of you. Since you do not think of us as people. What does Briala have on you?” “No good deed goes unpunished,” Solas says. “Perhaps I tire of wading through dead elves. A better world is coming. That does not mean I enjoy seeing our people suffer in the interim.” Lavellan exchanges a glance with Leliana. He has expanded his definition of personhood, but not by much. If the lives of the elves of Halamshiral were not at stake, she would hound him on that, and triangulate with Leliana--but there is no time for that. She does not take the bait. “Maker be with you,” Leliana says. She smiles oddly at Lavellan. “May the Dread Wolf never hear your step.” Lavellan laughs. Leliana pulls open the trapdoor, and they descend into the bowels of the city. The ladder is built into the stone, and it is wet and slippery under her hand. For once Lavellan is glad of the prosthetic. It steadies her down to the rushing river below, funneling the water that feeds the city. Solas waits for her at the bottom, hands glowing slightly. He has pulled a barrier spell right to the edge of the Veil, just in case. Silently she gestures to him to follow, and they hug the wall as they walk the narrow path towards the palace. Every twenty feet they come across a glowstone; Lavellan begins counting. Manon told her that she would reach the crossroads after the fortieth light. The water roars, the brickwork drips, and they keep walking. At the twenty-eighth glowstone, Lavellan says idly, “You shaved the beard.” “As you said, it was not a particularly compelling disguise,” Solas says. They have to shout to hear each other over the water, which is not a particularly good idea. They fall silent, and the corridor gradually widens over the water, which reduces to a quiet stream. Now they walk in step. They reach the fortieth glowstone and Lavellan stops. Her mother-in-law steps out of the shadows, carrying a lantern. She has more gray in her hair, Lavellan notes sorrowfully, and her mouth is pressed thin and tight. “Da’vhenan,” Manon says: child of my heart. “Why do I never see you unless there is a catastrophe?” “I’m making this one right,” Lavellan says. Briala will not die like Mahanon did: that goes unsaid. Manon examines Solas doubtfully and chooses supremely to say nothing. She turns her back to them and gestures to them to follow. “Where are the others?” Lavellan whispers. “Surely you’re not the only elf left in the palace.” “They have been encouraged to go home,” Manon says. “And the servants’ quarters have been locked. This was customary, of course, in Celene’s day. But I am glad you are here. Your life is considered so much less disposable than ours. If you fail, the shem will not torture you again, at least. But they’ll take it out on him.” “We will not fail,” Solas says. “I don’t find promises from the Dread Wolf particularly reassuring,” Manon says lightly. “I like it better when the gods keep silent.” Solas, amused, catches Lavellan’s eye, and Lavellan suppresses a smile. She does enjoy her mother-in-law. It is a shame only catastrophe brings them together: her husband’s death, the purging of the Dirthavaren, venatori in the Winter Palace, now this. “Don’t worry, Mamae,” Lavellan says. “I have it well in hand.” Manon leads them to a sloping stairwell and hangs the lantern at the entrance. She tells them to climb. They must follow the stairs along a steep curve along the dome of the Winter Palace ballroom. Briala is likely kept close to the top, behind a halla-locked door. Manon hands them a bag full of the statues they need. Solas shoulders it. There is only one way in, slithering between the ligaments of the Winter Palace. Lavellan flexes her prosthetic, arming her spirit blade. If they must they will fight their way out and leave no survivors. That is the Game: but it is so much more elegant to empty it, rather than leaving a trail of corpses to bloat the aqueduct. Lavellan hugs Manon tightly. “Stay safe,” she tells her. “Get out of here. Leliana will protect you. She’ll bring you back to Val Royeaux.” “My, my,” Manon murmurs. “The Divine’s protection. We really have risen in the world.” She pulls away from her and examines the greasepaint. “Don’t get caught. You don’t need any more unnecessary scars.” Stung, Lavellan draws back. Manon steps back into the shadows. Solas turns to her, concerned. “I don’t want to talk about it,” she says. “I’m alive, her son is not. And she hasn’t seen her granddaughters since before the Conclave. It’s my fault.” “But she loves you,” Solas remarks. “‘Child of her heart.’” “And so do you, and that has not done me much good,” Lavellan shoots back. Solas’ face tightens in the shadows. “True,” he says. He reaches tentatively towards her. “You have been here before.” Lavellan breathes: one two three, in. Halt: one two three four. Out: one two three four, one long gust. “In a place like this,” she says. “Not here. In Val Royeaux, and then in Wycombe. And of course, you remember Haven.” She lets him take her hand and squeeze it. “We will leave this place whole,” he says. “A promise from the Dread Wolf,” Lavellan says. “Forgive me if I am not reassured.” Still she does not drop his hand, and they enter the stairway together. Their eyes adjust seamlessly to the dark. The smell is horrible and the heat atrocious. Still, they continue to climb, and Lavellan wonders what is happening below. Perhaps Duke de Montfort’s men have entered the palace by now. Perhaps Gaspard himself is pacing in circles, stroking his moustache as he prepares for the inevitable backlash. Perhaps the room is simply empty, and it is only full in the Fade, where spirits reenact Briala watching Celene die again and again. A low mumble sings between the bricks and plaster wall. Solas and Lavellan stop in unison. Lavellan drops his hand and rubs her head, suddenly fatigued. Pressure is building behind her eyes. “The song,” she says. “It’s red lyrium,” Solas says. “It should not be in Halamshiral.” “It’s a desecration,” Lavellan says angrily. “It should not be in the heart of what was once my people’s city.” Solas looks at her strangely. “On that, at least, we agree,” he says. “Let’s keep moving.” He waits for her to move in front of him. Lavellan rolls her eyes. She does not know if it because he does not trust her, or because he wants to make a show of protecting her back, or if he simply dislikes walking first into the dark--likely all three. But with evidence of red lyrium in the Winter Palace, Leliana now has enough to order Gaspard to stand down. The curve of the halls glow red as they continue upward, and the song grows stronger. Lavellan is sweating off the greasepaint. It is worse here than in Emprise du Lion; it is growing in the mortar between the bricks themselves in the worryingly empty cells. Solas says suddenly, “This is an experiment.” He stops, brow furrowed as he stares at the minuscule lyrium crystals between the bricks. “A foolish one, because it will eventually take down the roof.” They reach the top of the stairs, and Solas places the halla statues along the doorframe. They glow a sickly green, and the lock clicks. Lavellan charges her spirit blade and pushes the door open. Briala is chained to the wall, staring fixedly at a growth of red lyrium in the center of the room. It is pulsing up her chains, inching closer and closer to her wrists. She looks up and says, “Maker. Get me out of here. I cannot hear myself think.” Horrified, Lavellan hurries over and  strikes off her chains. Briala crumbles to the floor. She picks her up. “Solas, her shoulders,” she says. “Her wrists!” Solas kneels next to her. Hands glowing a comforting green, he massages Briala’s shoulders back into place and heals the bruising the cuffs left on her wrists. Briala says, half-deliriously, “If you are the Dread Wolf and that is the Herald, what does that make me? The Arrow?” She rests her head on Lavellan’s shoulder. “Has he moved against our people?” “Not yet,” she says. “He won’t. I will not let him.” She looks at Solas over Briala’s head. He is staring beyond them, lost in a reverie. She shapes my love on her tongue and stops herself. “Solas?” she says instead. “We need to move.” He startles. “Yes,” he says. “Forgive me. Imprisonment is hard to bear.” They still, and Lavellan understands that all she has been through, her and Briala both, he has lived too. He touches her shoulder and helps her hoist Briala up, carefully skirting the red lyrium. Briala says, “They did something to my legs. Injected something. Poison, but they wanted the lyrium to eat me alive.” “So not so poisonous,” Lavellan says. “Lethallin, let me carry you.” Briala sags in her arms and carefully they maneuver towards the door. Solas walks down the slope first, drawing a barrier close to their side of the Veil. It drowns out the singing, but her head continues to pound. Briala’s breathing is practiced and even. She has been through this sort of pain before--but their people don’t rise this high without learning how to breathe pain to make it manageable, so that it doesn’t snatch at your very respiration, that you can have that much control over your body, even as it revolts from the inside. Lavellan does not let her thoughts lose her. Carefully and steadily, she steps through the prison and never loses her footing. They reach the end of the staircase and Solas fishes a healing potion from his pocket. Lavellan sets Briala down. Briala looks at Lavellan. She nods, and only then does Briala reach for it. Solas’ face is unreadable. Briala drinks. “My people,” she says. “Do they know?” “We’ve kept word from spreading,” Lavellan says. “Manon let us know.” “And your man let mine,” Solas adds. Briala grimaces. “A pleasant surprise,” Briala says. “I had assumed you would be too proud.” She looks at Lavellan sardonically. “He feel guilty that when he took the eluvians from us, he interrupted a supply chain to the ghetto in Jader. Babies and old men starved, because of the Dread Wolf. And of course, you cannot let Orlais fall to Tevinter and the Qun before you take the Dales, can you?” Solas says, “You have your life. Would you like to keep it? The more we dawdle, the more we risk discovery. Let us leave this place.” Lavellan picks up Briala. She murmurs in her ear, “Dead babies. Nice touch.” Briala seizes a second--the closest she can come to a laugh. They follow Solas’ light through the underbelly of the palace and back into the roaring aqueduct. Lavellan is panting heavily now, prosthetic digging into her skin. Briala tries to support herself and nearly falls into the water. Solas turns to watch as Lavellan shouts and grabs her back, both of them slipping to the ground. He does not offer them a hand up. Lavellan glares at him, covered in muck. She picks Briala back up. When it is clear they will not fall, Solas turns around and keeps walking. Lavellan tries to keep up, but her energy is flagging, and she falls behind. When they round the next bendSolas is gone, and while there are footsteps tracing a path through the muck into the catacombs of Halamshiral, Lavellan has neither the time nor the rage to follow. “Asshole,” Lavellan says. She steadies Briala on her back and climbs back into the light.

[askauskysolo]

Telling the Family

Luke and Han tell Luke’s family about their engagement and get some...mixed reactions. 

“Did you brush your hair?”

“Yes, Luke.”

“Did you brush it to make it look neat?”

“Yes, Luke.”

“Are you wearing something that doesn’t involve your vest tonight?”

“No, Luke.”

“Worth a shot.”

“Nice try though.”

“I’m going to go finish helping with dinner….be on time?”

“Would you stop worrying? I’m right upstairs.”

“Still,” Luke said, leaning on the wall, talking on the com link on his wrist.

“I’ll be on time, I swear,” Han laughed into the link, “Now go help your grammy with dinner.”

Luke rolled his eyes and shut off the com link before walking into the kitchen.

“Luke!” Jobal said, smiling at him, “Come to help me at last?”

“Yes, sorry,” Luke smiled at her, “You arrived early, I was...unprepared.”

“Oh, you were just spending time with Han,” Ryoo smirked, peeking up from behind the counter.

Luke crossed his arms, “Don’t sneak up on people like that, Ryoo,” he huffed.

“Was just looking for a pan, cousin,” Ryoo said, putting it on the counter, “Someone had to help grandmother while you were flirting over there with your boyfriend.”

Luke rolled his eyes.

“Padmé has talked non-stop about just how cute you two are,” Jobal laughed.

“It’s true,” Darred said, peeking up from where Ryoo was.

“Uncle Darred!” Luke jumped, his hand going to his chest, “Come on, man.”

“Sorry, where’s your mixer?” Darred asked.

“Over there,” Luke pointed to another cabinet and walked over, “Anyone else hiding back there?” he asked.

“Just us,” Ryoo rolled her eyes.

“So what exactly does Han do for a living, Luke?” Jobal asked.

Luke finished setting the table, making sure all the utensils were in their proper place. It might just be a family dinner (albeit it being the first time they all got together in a while), but he knew how his grandmother was. When she was in charge of a meal, she went way overboard...especially when guests were involved.

“Luke.”

Speaking of guests…

“Han-” Luke stopped and froze when he saw Han. He looked...different. His hair wasn’t as scruffy as it usually looked and he wasn’t wearing the vest, just a simple white button down and black pants.

“I don’t clean up too bad,eh, kid?” Han laughed, gesturing to himself.

“You didn’t have to do all this…” Luke trailed off in shock.

“Worth it,” Han walked up and handed him his ring, “Forgot this upstairs.”

“Sorry,” Luke sighed, putting it on, “I’m not used to wearing rings.”

“Well, ya better get used to it,” Han gave him a crooked smile before leaning down and kissing him.

Luke kissed back, putting his hand on his cheek and pulling him closer.

“Well,” someone said suddenly, “Why don’t you just fuck on the dinner table?”

Luke sighed, pulling away and resting his head against Han’s, “Good evening, Leia.”

“Evening, Luke,” she said simply, ignoring Han.

“Look, sister, you’re gonna have to get used to having me around-” Han started, but stopped, knowing Luke was the one who wanted to tell them.

“Oh yeah?” Leia asked, “Why’s that?”

“Because...I’m serious about Luke!” Han said, crossing his arms.

“Prove it,” Leia said simply, before taking her place at the table.

“Oh, I will,” Han said under his breath, waiting for Luke to sit down at the long table to see where exactly he would be sitting. He was hoping for an end seat-

Luke sat down on the end, right beside the head of the table’s chair.

Han sighed, knowing he’d end up having to sit beside someone he either didn’t know or didn’t like, but he sat down beside anyways.

“Hi!” someone said suddenly appearing in the seat beside him.

Han’s head snapped over to see a girl with brown hair sitting beside him, “Uh...hi?”

“I’m Ryoo,” she held out her hand, “Luke’s cousin. This is my sister, Pooja.”

“Uh...nice to meet you,” Han said, shaking her hand awkwardly. He tensed slightly but relaxed when he felt Luke’s hand slip into his under the table.

Ryoo leaned over and whispered in his ear, “Thank you. I’ve never seen Luke this happy.”

This girl he just met caused him to have a warm feeling in his chest in just one statement.

Luke squeezed his hand briefly, smiling at him slightly while talking to his sister, but Han knew it was meant for him.

“Okay, everyone,” Jobal walked in, Anakin following behind and carrying a large plate for the old woman, looking grumpy as ever.

“Here, father, let me help,” Luke went to get up, but Han stood up first.

“I got it,” Han said quickly, trying to get out of Ryoo’s way-too-personal interrogation about his life. As wonderful as the comment was, the interrogation that followed wasn’t as wonderful.

Anakin looked annoyed, but didn’t say anything. Why would he? It would be completely irrational to be angry over Han simply offering help.

Han saw Luke smiling again and looking down as Han put the plates of food on the table.

“Looks good,” Han laughed weakly, holding out his hand for Luke’s grandmother, “Han Solo.”

“Well, nice to finally put the face to the name,” Jobal laughed, shaking his hand with a surprisingly strong grip for a woman in her nineties, “I’m Jobal, this is my husband, Ruwee.”

Han shook his hand as well when she pulled away, “Nice to meet you both,” he said formally.

Don’t screw this up, Han thought, You messed up with Luke’s parents, but you won’t mess up with these ones.

“Well,” Ruwee clasped his shoulder, “He seems like a very polite boy, Anakin, I don’t know what you’ve been talking about.”

Han raised an eyebrow at Anakin and then gave him a smirk before returning to his seat, grabbing his hand again.

“Anakin just exaggerates sometimes,” Padmé said, coming in with Sola.

Han nodded to Sola, smiling slightly.

“I never exaggerate,” Darred commented under his breath, earning a glare from Anakin and concealed laugh from Luke. Those two had been in a “who’s the better son in-law” since Padmé and Anakin revealed their marriage, even before he was born.

“Of course not, father,” Pooja laughed quietly.

“Well, if we’re all here,” Jobal said, looking around the table, “Everyone dig in.”

Luke looked around, smiling slightly at his family as Anakin took his seat. He never thought they would be here...all together, Han included. His father, his mother, his sister, his grandparents, his cousins, and then Ahsoka and even Obi-Wan were all here.

And Han.

“Well,” Ruwee said once they started eating, “What has everyone been up to?”

Luke glanced over at Han nervously, but Ryoo broke the silence.

“The Rebellion is going wonderfully,” she said simply, causing Darred to choke on his drink.

“Ryoo,” Darred sighed.

“Well, he asked what we’ve been up to,” Ryoo shrugged, “It’s what I’ve been up to,” she smiled at Han.

Anakin shook his head, “I don’t want any more of this family involved in the Rebellion. It’s too dangerous. Let us handle things.”

“Well, uncle, if you were handling things, there would be no need for us, now would there?” Ryoo said simply.

Han glanced over at Luke awkwardly, just continuing to eat. The food was good and Luke definitely helped. Luke always cooked for him when they were docked and always snuck up leftovers when he used to sneak in.

“I have one more semester of classes until I graduate,” Pooja said, breaking the awkward silence, “It’s been so much fun working for Aunt Padmé,” she smiled slightly, ducking her head.

“What do you do?” Han asked curiously.

“I’m a translator,” Pooja explained, “I translate meetings that are broadcasted to the citizens, for those who can’t hear,” she said.

“Like sign language?” Han asked, “Isn’t that a droid’s job?”

“And droids are terribly mistreated,” Pooja told him, shrugging, “It’s a pleasure doing this job, really. It let a droid that’s been doing for the Senate for over twenty years finally retire.”

“That’s amazing,” Han smiled at her.

Pooja ducked her head again, blushing slightly.

“Leia? Luke? Any thoughts on college?” Ruwee asked, “I’m sure the university would be pleased to have you. I’d be happy to write any recommendation letters you need.”

“No thanks,” Leia said simply.

“I, uh…” Luke trailed off awkwardly, “I have other things I’m doing.”

“Oh?” Ruwee asked.

“I mean…” Luke took a deep breath, “My mind would be elsewhere...considering I have a wedding to plan.”

It was Leia’s turn to choke on her drink now.

The table went silent for a moment before Ryoo pulled Han into a tight hug, despite him having a mouth stuffed full of bread.

“Congratulations!” Ryoo said happily.

Pooja joined her in hugging Han tightly.

“Congraulations, Luke,” Jobal said, smiling, “Will it be a Spring wedding?”

“We were thinking Summer,” Luke said, smiling.

“Well, that will be wonderful,” Ruwee told him, smiling as well.

“Luke, that’s...wonderful,” Obi-Wan said carefully, glancing over at his former Padawan has he made the statement, giving him a warning Luke that was practically mimicked by Ahsoka.

Padmé glanced over at Anakin before getting up. She walked over and pulled Luke into a hug, “I’m so happy for you, Luke,” she told him, smiling as she pulled away and held his face in her hands, “I can’t believe you’ve grown up so fast.”

Luke smiled with teary eyes as she pulled away.

“Ryoo, Pooja!” Padmé told them, “You can suck up to Han to be a part of the wedding party later, I want to get a hug from my future son in-law.”

Ryoo rolled her eyes as she pulled away, looking at Han, “We’ll talk later,” she told him seriously.

Han stood up quickly, letting Padmé pull him into a hug. It was relaxing, really. He never had a hug from his mother...not that he could remember, at least. But he kind of imagined this is what it would be like.

“Welcome to the family,” Padmé told him quietly as she pulled away.

Han practically jumped when Leia was suddenly at Padmé’s side.

The appearing suddenly thing must run in the family.

Leia looked up at Han, pointing at him, “One move out of line...and it won’t be my father you have to worry about.”

Han held his hands up in surrender, “I don’t plan on making a move out of line, princess,” he said, smirking slightly, “Or should I say sister?”

“You shouldn’t,” Leia said before going back to her seat beside Anakin.

The whole table was silent and all of them waited on Anakin’s reaction.

“I need some air,” Anakin said simply, before getting up and walking outside.

“I’ll talk to him-” Padmé started.

“No,” Han told her, shaking his head, “This is something I need to do,” he said. He kissed Luke’s cheek before stalking out in the direction Anakin came, making sure to close the door behind him.

He found him standing out on the balcony, looking out at the water.

“Look, old man,” Han said, putting his hands on his hips, “I don’t know what your damn problem is with me...if you think I’m dangerous because of the Rebellion or...or if it’s because I’m a smuggler, but I love your son. Don’t think about me, think about him. He’s happy...a-and you walking out like that probably hurt him!”

“Do you really think this is about you?” Anakin snapped, his hands going to the edge of the balcony, refusing to look at Han, “Do you know how long Luke has been training to be a Jedi?”

“Since he could walk,” Han said instantly, “With Obi-Wan, for as long as he can remember.”

“If he wanted to be a Knight...he can’t have personal attachments. He could never have a family,” Anakin shook his head, “Seventeen years of training, gone. Just like that.”

“So because he’s happy and going to have a family, he can’t be a Jedi Knight?” Han snorted, “You’re a Knight! Hell, you’re a Master. Why do you get to have a family?”

“I’m...different,” Anakin sighed, “And right now, in the middle of this war, they couldn’t afford to kick me out.”

“So because you’re so special, you get to break the rules, but Luke doesn’t?” Han snorted, “Who wants to be a Jedi Knight anyways? What’s the point if he can never live his life?!”

“He was supposed to be the peacemaker!” Anakin yelled, “He was...chosen.”

“What does that mean?” Han demanded, getting angry now, “Because your damn council that is so far up the government’s ass thinks Luke is special, that means he has to follow this path?”

“Luke and Leia,” Anakin sighed, “They were the chosen ones...supposed to bring peace to the galaxy.”

“Well, hate to break it to you, old man, but Luke has been in my bed for the past year and your daughter? She’s been sleeping with a pilot of the Rebellion,” Han said, finally losing it, “And guess what? Luke and I? We’re going to have a family. We’re going to be happy. We’re going to get married,” he snapped, “So take your prophecy and shove it up your ass!” he yelled.

Anakin took out his lightsaber, but didn’t move.

“Do it,” Han said, narrowing his eyes, “Don’t threaten something you won’t do,” he told him, his hands going into fists, “Or put your toy away and fight me like a man.”

Anakin took a deep breath, “Get back inside,” he gritted his teeth, “I’ll return shortly,” he said, putting his saber away.

Han stared at him for a moment before starting to go towards the door.

He put his hands out and turned around, “Better get used to be, old man...because I’m not going anywhere,” he finished before going back inside.

Luke was there immediately, surprising Han.

“How much did you hear?” Han asked, pulling him inside.

“All of it,” Luke said honestly.

Han stared down at him, “Did you know?”

“I had a feeling,” Luke looked down, “About...most of it,” he said, holding his hands, “I’ve always found that rule about the Jedi...so silly. Love is what drives people...compassion, attachment,” he took a deep breath, “I always hoped...that by the time we came to this, that this stupid rule would be gone.”

Han stared down at their hands, “I don’t want you to give that up to be with me.”

“If it comes down between being a Knight and being with you,” Luke looked up at him, “I’ll choose you...every time,” he leaned up, “And I can’t wait to become your husband,” he told him.

Han smiled and closed the gap between their mouths, pulling him into a soft kiss, “Right back at you,” he said when he pulled away.

[heartslogos]

newfragile yellows [262]

Sylaise’ knitting needles even sound furious as she rants, somewhat unhelpfully, while - much more helpfully - knitting Solas’ new daughter a blanket for the rapidly approaching winter, which, according to Dirthamen, is going to be a very, very harsh one.

Ghilan’nain, much more immediate in her helpfulness, is preparing dinner for the three of them as Solas attempts to burp his new daughter, who was named by group vote as Ellana.

Solas was going to call her Ellana anyway, he’s not certain why everyone felt it necessary to democratize the act. No one ever did that for any of Mythal’s children.

He’s certain that he’s never had this much trouble attempting to burp a baby before. Ellana makes displeased nnnnnnng noise against his shoulder as he walks her around the first floor of his house.

“Well, you certainly aren’t going to ban her from my house. And I’m not removing every spindle from my house in order to keep her in a bubble. Do you know how important spindles are? To - not just my magic, mind - to living? And this girl is going to need to know how to spin thread. This is a survival skill. No niece or nephew or whatever of mine is going to go into this world completely unaware of how to spin thread because her other aunt cursed her for half-baked reasons that most likely have to do with dramatic effect.”

Sylaise says the words dramatic effect like Solas says the words elder brother. Distastefully, at the tip of his teeth like that would make the words any less vile or repulsive, and with a great deal of disbelieving vehemence that such a thing could exist.

And yet Elgar’nan still breathes and remains stubbornly older than him, so. There’s that.

“The spindle part won’t kick in until she’s eighteen, you have time. Once she turns eighteen we’ll just…keep them out of the way and never let Mythal near her again. Because Mythal would definitely kickstart her own curse by taking a spindle and poking Ellana would it,” Ghilan’nain says as she checks in on the pot hanging in Solas’ fireplace and then goes back to chopping vegetables at his table. “I’m sure if the seven of us got together and focused very hard we could break Mythal’s curse.”

“You assume Elgar’nan would help,” Solas says.

“Elgar’nan would help,” both of his sisters chide, giving him disappointed looks as he passes. “He did attempt to stop Mythal in the first place. And he even showed up to give Ellana a gift of his own! And it was quite a nice gift.”

It was the power to command armies, what in the name of the Fade is an infant child going to need the power to command armies for?

Solas keeps these comments to himself and focuses on trying to settle the fussy baby in his arms. He’s never wanted a baby to burp over his back so badly before.

“I’m thinking more about the endgame of the prophecy. What kind of man is marble?” Ghilan’nain asks.

“Jun was copper,” Sylaise points out, “Elgar’nan was fire, and Mythal was sea-foam.”

“That’s different and it’s also bullshit,” Ghilan’nain says. “We need to think about who this man is and how we can get him here so he’s around when this happens so we don’t have to wait very long.”

“You want us to find a man made of marble sometime before the next eighteen years is up,” Sylaise repeats, “I’m sorry, littlest sister, are you insane?”

“Andruil and I will handle it.”

Sylaise valiantly holds back some sort of comment, Solas can taste it.

Ellana, finally, burps and Solas lets out a sigh of relief he did not know he had been holding as he gently passes her off to Sylaise and goes to help Ghilan’nain with dinner.

It was very nice of them to burst into his house and commandeer it in the name of helping him with his new cursed daughter. He appreciates it. Really. He’ll send a thank you note. Eventually.

-

Ellana dreams.

As she dreams, she walks around the ruins of the castle of her grandparents who she never met, in all of its half-restored glory and she watches the face of her father as he sleeps in the chair next to her bed and holds her hand and hopes.

Ellana dreams and she remembers every single word that she’s wrung out of each of her aunts and uncles and her own father about this event.

They had all known it was going to happen.

Ellana knows every detail of what must happen in order for her to wake up next.

She must find the man of marble. The marble man. The wording changes, and Ellana is not sure what it is supposed to mean. Is he a man of literal marble? Is this a metaphor? Some sort of poetic language?

Is it his demeanor that is marble? His skin? His body? His voice? What part of him is marble?

Ellana dreams and there is power in dreams because you do not need to follow logic in dreams.

So Ellana thinks, I want to find a person.

Ellana finds several people.

Ellana finds her brother, outside of the castle. Her brother, who is equally as cursed as her - though he has already lived through his portion of his curse, and through it has come to give her his own guidance, and she feels very sad that they had to lose each other again like this. She sees her once-cursed always-burdened brother sitting next to her favorite dog and she wishes that they would come inside.

Her father suffers with his hope very quietly and it would be nice for him to have a break from her unresponsive silence.

Ellana finds her Aunt Mythal, calmly drying herbs as she goes about her business, confident in her prophecies and actions.

She finds her aunts Ghilan’nain and Andruil, still tirelessly working in their efforts to find a man made of marble, a marble of a man, etc. etc.

She finds her Uncle Jun, fed up with the idea of finding something, and creating a man of marble for her. Ellana feels warm with this. But she does not think that this is where fate leads her.

She finds her Aunt Sylaise bitterly complaining to her uncles Dirthamen and Falon’din who scowl into their tea as they plot and think and try to out-clever their eldest sister.

And for a moment, she thinks, her Uncles see her too.

She sees her Uncle Elgar’nan, standing by himself at the top of a cliff, staring into the sunset. And he whispers, eyes narrowed, “You must cross the sea twice.”

Ellana listens.

Ellana dreams herself over the sea. Time passes differently for a dreamer. She lopes across the ocean in strange strides that leave her drifting and bouncing in the air for long stretches of time where the sun rises and sets dozens of times between the smallest movements of her fingers, and when the stars remain in place for her as she bounces over storms and waves.

The first time she crosses the sea, Ellana finds a boy and a girl who are bickering with a familiarity that makes her ache of her own brother. She sits with them, for a time - out of time -, and she gathers that they are nobles of some sort and the boy wants to be a knight and the girl is very sensible in that she wants a house of her own and none of that foolish adventuring business.

Ellana, unsure of what she is meant to find here, goes to cross the sea one more time.

She crosses again, further to the North.

And on a small island in water that is sometimes pale blue enough to see the white sand - pale enough to turn violet with bloodshed - and sometimes black enough to swallow ships, she finds a man.

He is much older than her, and he is definitely a man in the sense that he is older, wiser, and probably more aware of the world than she is. She would not call her brother a man. She would call this person one.

Though…Ellana is not sure if that this is the man made of marble. He looks big. He looks very powerful. And indeed, as she watches him swing a sword almost as tall as he is, and half as wide - which is very wide, the sword itself is larger than her own body -, he could be, metaphorically and poetically speaking, be said to have been carved from marble.

(He looks nothing like the man that her Uncle is carefully creating for her, she double checks this very quickly because in dreams you can be many places multiple times at once and it still makes sense.)

He does not feel like a man made of marble or a marble man or whatever combination of words any of her aunts and uncles felt like using at the time of the retelling.

But. Uncle Elgar’nan had told her to cross the ocean twice. And he is who she found when she crossed it the second time.

On the other hand -

This is a man fighting a war many oceans and leagues and lands away. What reason would he have to come and find her? What reason would he have to leave his war to wake her up?

Ellana watches this man for a very long time. She watches him suffer. She watches him laugh. She watches him think. She watches him heal. She watches him stare out into the horizon, the line of his mouth unmoving and flat and empty. She watches the wheels turn in his mind to some conclusion she isn’t sure on.

Ellana watches him for a very long time. She will come back to this man, eventually. If anything, because she is interested in why the First Child of the Sun would think to tell her to come here. Why did the Uncle Elgar’nan see him?

But she has her own life to lead, her own battles to wage, and her own things to ponder.

Ellana leaves the man, who’s name she has not learned - they call him Hissrad, sometimes. Not all the time. Sometimes it is just numbers. And Ellana can learn numbers, but she does not like the concept of calling anyone a number. Nor does she like to think of him as Hissrad - because spending this much time here in what she has learned is Seheron has taught her some of the many languages being thrown around like knives, and she does not like what Hissrad is supposed to mean.

She does not think that this man likes it, either.

Ellana leaves this man and goes back to the first boy and girl she found.

If the marble man, man of marble, marble of man, whatever will not come to Ellana, she will go to him. And she cannot do that asleep.

What can she do in sleep?

She can dream.

Ellana dreams herself standing over Maxwell Trevelyan’s sleeping body and she touches his dream with hers.

“So. You want to be a knight?”

[dinoswrites]

director's cut meme: that scene from "little arrow" where solas first meets evie in the flesh >)

I mean yeah I basically wrote the fic because this idea popped into my head hahahahaaaa so.

They finally stopin a room with a big table, and a bunch of people standing around it. They’reall wearing the shiny armour, which still looks silly, and there’s one in themiddle with his back turned who has a big, white pelt over his shoulder. She’snot too good at guessing yet, but she thinks it’s from a wolf—it’s way too longfor halla hair.

The man who’s holding her says something, and she knows it’sabout Mamae because he says Inquisitor, and thenhe says da’len and the man with the wolf pelt stiffens.

As you have guessed, the agents who kidnapped Evie literally burst into an extremely important meeting of the Dread Wolf and his Generals, and right when someone is about to give them shit for it they shout something like, “THE INQUISITOR, OUR GREATEST ENEMY, HAS A CHILD! WE HAVE STOLEN HER SO WE CAN EXPLOIT THIS WEAKNESS AND WIN THE WAR! MAY WE HAVE A PROMOTION PLEASE”

Meanwhile Solas is just like the tumblr app, trying to load pictures and failing

The whole room goes very quiet, and everyone looks at her veryquickly. And then they all start to talk again, quicker, faster, louder, soloud that it makes her ears hurt.

Except for the man in the wolf pelt, who lifts his hands fromthe table and turns around very slowly—like people do in Varric’s stories, whensomething scary or exciting is happening.

The main challenge of Evie’s POV was how little frame of reference she had for literally everything happening to her--so most of the strange settings she sees as a child have to come from stories, or the woods around their aravels. And she’s never been around very large gatherings of people - this is probably the highest number of people she’s seen at once in her life. 

Solas’ brain is still:

The man holding her puts her on the floor, and she almost fallsover—they haven’t fed her today, and they’ve been running all night. She candefinitely handle it, she’s four and a half, but she thinks anyone would be a little shaky, under thecircumstances.

Fuck I forget how dang cute this kid is sometimes. “I’m like, kind of starving but I’m fine, I’m a big girl, I got kidnapped but I’m rolling with it.”

She looks up at the man in the wolf pelt as he looks down ather.

He looks very, very surprised, she thinks. And maybe a littlesad—or happy? He’s looking at her like Mamae looks at her sometimes, when shethinks Evie’s not paying attention. Cole says that she’s overwhelmed when she does that, it’snot Evie’s fault.

I’m not sure there’s enough gifs in the world to cover Solas’s thoughts right now???

He runs like... the full gamut, here. Initial reaction: She has my eyes. Fuck, I have a kid.

Instant, knee-jerk wait i must hate myself more reaction: No, that’s impossible, based off this child’s age my vhenan, heart outside my chest and love of my life, would have known that I am the Dread Wolf, scourge of her people and destroyer of her world, and there is no way she would have kept my child. Obviously, what is happening here, is that my vhenan, who shines in my eyes brighter than any star in the sky, finally moved on. Yes.

Also Solas: she has my eyes

Also also Solas: I BET LOTS OF PEOPLE HAVE THAT EYECOLOUR, I SUSPECT IT’S VERY COMMON I BET SHE’S NOT EVEN THE RIGHT AGE FOR OUR ILL ADVISED TRYST

Also Also ALSO Solas: ... actually i don’t know anything about children, how old is she?????

She thinks of her brother, then—of him being frozen in place,trapped by magic—and she thinks that she’s hungry, and thirsty, but she alreadybroke a rule when she took food from the strangers who took her and she knowsshe wasn’t supposed to and she didn’t mean to break the rule about screamingbut she got so tired of it—

She wants her brother. She wants her Mamae. She wants someone totake this thing out of her mouth and untie her wrists and bring her to herMamae, right this instant.

The entire room goes silent when she starts to cry.

If you subscribe to a Looking Glass-esque version of Ancient Elvhenan, where children are precious and must never ever be hurt, you probably thought that last sentence was hilarious.

I imagine it might have been jarring for some of the people in the room who don’t view modern Thedosians as “people,” because believing one thing and then having a sobbing child in front of you... would probably test your limits on how much of a monster you feel like being today.

All of a sudden, the man in the wolf pelt kneels, and takes thecloth out of her mouth.

Everyone take a quiet moment to appreciate that Solas’s first interaction with the child he did not know existed until 20 seconds ago is to remove a gag from her mouth. 

She nearly chokes on it, she’s so surprised—maybe he’s like Coleand Mamae, he knows what she’s thinking—and he hushes her as she does,hiccupping and sobbing loudly into the emptiness of the room. Not trying to gether to be quiet—no, he just makes soothing noises, whispers gently, “It’s goingto be alright,” over and over.

“I want—I want—”

“Your mamae,” he says, gently, when she can’t finish. “Ofcourse. I will take you to her as soon as possible.”

I really, really like the idea that young Evie doesn’t quite get the difference between spirits and people, and just thinks that her mother can literally read her thoughts because Cole can, obviously.

In reality, Evie’s mom used to be the fucking Inquisitor, leader of a party that included a surprisingly honest Qunari spy, a convict who thought growing a beard would disguise his identity (and it worked) and the goddamn dread wolf. I think by now she might be savvy to “no i didn’t eat more blueberries than you said mom I promise” with a mouth stained purple and fingers crossed behind your back, Evie.

Solas is no longer frantically trying to convince himself that she’s not his kid - because she is crying and his heart is in 6000 little pieces, and she looks so much like his vhenan...

He has actually 200% forgotten about everyone else in the room at this point.

Meanwhile, someone in the back of the meeting is secretly thrilled, because they are about to make a boatload of money off the old “did our boss sleep with our enemy again” betting pool.

He pauses, though,when he unties her wrists. And she feels his fingers touch the big ugly bruisethat’s left over from them grabbing her.

His hands glow a little, like Uncle Dorian’s or Aunt Vivienne’s.And she remembers another rule too late—don’t let strangers use magicon you—but all he does is make the bruise go away, and her wristdoesn’t hurt any more.

His eyes glow, too. But she doesn’t feel any different fromthat, so she doesn’t worry about it. Elf eyes get all shiny in low lightsometimes.

Everyone in the room: Well I mean maybe he’s got a weakness for kids or something I guess that’s --

Solas: *turns both agents who kidnapped her to stone without even looking at them*

Entire room: 

“Are you hurt anywhere else?” he asks, and he sounds so nicethat she answers honestly. She shakes her head no, and he smiles so nicely whenshe does that she feels a little smile of her own, answering him back.

“Good,” he says. “Are you hungry? Thirsty? It’s a long trip backto your Mamae, and I want to make sure you’re feeling well.”

She sniffles a little, rubbing her arm where the bruise was, andnods.

He smiles again.“Would you like to walk with me, to get something to eat?”

Presumably the agents he just turned to stone said something about where they were, because otherwise there would be an awkward period of “let’s interrogate all my generals until I find out where I’m supposed to go because I jumped the gun on the whole stone thing lolololol”

You don’t have to fill all your weird plot holes if you just have your main character not have a clue what’s happening, right?

That breaks a rule, she knows. But she’s very hungry, and thisstranger said he’d take her to Mamae, so she nods.

He stands then, and reaches down, holding out his hand for hers.He kind of has to bend over a little, to make it work, but she reaches up highand his hand is very warm and gentle. He begins to lead her out the door thatshe came in—and there are two statues there that she didn’t notice before, soshe cranes her head up to look at them.

Some people missed the agents-turned-to-stone detail, so there it is!

“My name is Solas,” he says, and she looks at him instead. “Whatis yours?”

She knows it’s breaking a rule, but she tells him anyway, inbetween sniffling and rubbing at her eyes. “Evie.”

Solas: *trying not to break down crying as he takes her hand for the first and what he thinks will be the last time ever*

Evie: I have learned from this that there are two types of people: People who are nice to me, and people who kidnap me on sight. There is no middle ground. I totally will not need therapy when I’m older.

Everyone else in the room as they leave: ... do we still have jobs tomorrow?

[jentrevellan]

Serendipity

Summary: A modern AU setting of Thedas! … Lyla Lavellan is heading to Skyhold University, after dropping out of her previous uni. A distance relationship with her boyfriend Solas in Denerim is put under strain but she soon becomes fast friends with her new housemates, classmates and work colleagues, including uni drop-out Cullen Rutherford.

Read on Ao3 -> Read on FF -> Artwork by @lillotte17

Chapter 5: Lyla 

*NOTE* This chapter contains a scene of non-con. 

My drive to Denerim is completely uneventful. The evening grows darker and I blast out cheesy, seasonal music, but I’ve no heart to sing along. With every mile that passes, I find myself dreading the approach more and more. I’m reluctant to admit it, but leaving Skyton and driving to Denerim is the last thing I actually want to do. I find myself yearning to turn around head straight back to Skyton, to the people who I’m quickly becoming fast friends with.

My fingers subconsciously play with the little book pendant around my neck whenever I’m stopped at traffic lights. I try not think about what that might mean. I’m pulled out of my thoughts when, on the passenger seat, my phone rings. Keeping my eyes on the road, I reach for my phone, accept the call and pop it on speaker.

“Hello?”

“Hey, it’s me!” an excitable voice replies.

I grin at the sound of my younger sister’s voice. “Hey Fallow. How are you?”

“I’m good! Are you in Denerim?”

“Just driving there at the moment.”

“Oh! Well I was just calling to wish you and Solas a Happy Satinalia!”

I smile. “Thanks sweetpea - you too.”

“I popped your present in the post last week, so it should be at Solas’ apartment when you get there, but don’t open it until tomorrow, okay?”

“Alright, I promise I won’t open it.”

“Good!”

“How is Aunt Deshanna?” I ask.

“She’s fine - a bit tired, but it’s nice just watching Satinalia movies with her. We’re seeing the rest of the Lavellan Clan tomorrow.”

“That will be manic,” I chuckle. “I’m sorry I can’t be there.”

Fallow clicks her tongue. “So now you apologise… I’m only joking. You’re lucky to be away from the madhouse reunion. I’m just looking forward to the food.”

“Well make sure you tell everyone I miss them and all that.”

“Will do, big sis. It won’t be the same without you!”

“Stop trying to suck up - I am not paying for your flights to Orlais.”

“But-”

“Fallow, I am a poor student myself, don’t forget.”

“I know, I know, but Aunt Deshanna is still adamant I don’t go to Orlais until I’m eighteen!”

“Aunt Deshanna is usually right about most things - you should listen to her.”

My sister sighs dramatically down the phone. “You’re plotting with her, aren’t you?”

“Wouldn’t dream of it. Look, I’m gonna have to go, the line is starting to break up.”

“Okay… I miss you.”

“I miss you too, sweetpea. I’ll give you a text tomorrow, okay?”

“Mmm okay.”

“Happy Satinalia.”

“Happy Satinalia, Lyla. Love you!”

“Love you too.”

It’s almost midnight by the time I park outside Solas’s apartment building. I cut the engine and sit in the car for a few minutes, preparing myself. It is with much reluctance that I realise that coming here is the last place I want to be right now. Things with Solas have not been good for a few months, and have got even worse since I moved to Skyton. I feel us drifting apart, and the thought scares me. As high school sweethearts, we don’t know anything else - I’ve never even kissed another person, other than him.

I close my eyes and try to remember how I used to feel about him when we were studying at school together. It had started as a sweet little romance with flowers and chocolates. Things went slow and it was exciting to have a boyfriend and to be naive about everything that entailed.

As I mull over my thoughts and what it could mean, my attention is drawn to a couple walking down the street on the other side of the road. They stop at the corner, just away from me. I watch as the man tucks a strand of hair behind the woman’s ear affectionately before drawing her into a kiss. It’s dark so I can’t see their faces, but that tender touch is something I know I’m yearning for. The couple say farewell, and the figure walks towards the same apartment block that Solas lives at, fiddles with his keys and enters the building.

I glance at my phone, noting the late hour and give Solas a text.

[I’m outside. Can you help me bring my bags up to your flat?]

A few minutes later, the door to the building opens and a figure saunters over to the passenger window. I roll it down.

“Hey,” Solas says, his face the usual expressionless mask.

I climb out of the car and he helps me with my luggage. We say little to each other as I follow him up, my mind shattered from the shift at work and the drive across. His flat is small and poky and the other flatmate is away for the holiday season, so it’s just us two. Before, that thought would’ve filled me with giddy joy, but now I have this strange, empty sense of dread.

“If it’s okay, I might just head to bed…?” I say, once the car is unloaded.

He obliges and after digging out my pyjamas, I slide into the single bed, getting as close to the wall as possible. Solas peers around the door once I’m settled, my eyes already drooping.

“I’m just going to finish watching this programme on PrimeFlix in the living room. I’ll come to bed soon,” he says.

I stifle a yawn, my eyes closing. “Alright…”

Sleep takes me before Solas has even backed out of the room. It’s a deep sleep and I dream of being at my room in Skyton, sat on my bed chatting with Cullen. He’s grinning and I feel incredibly happy: the room is light and warm and I’m drawn to his smiling amber eyes. He’s bold and kisses me, but I kiss him back, enjoying it, wondering if this is real, knowing that it’s not. I feel guilty, it tugs the corners of my mind so I pull away and Cullen is gone. His face turns into Solas’ - the expression harsh and full of accusation. Cullen is gone and it’s Solas. His hands are everywhere, rough on my body, leaving unpleasant marks on my skin, purple bruises that will take weeks to fade. I ignore them and submit.

I wake slowly in the pitch dark to hear grunting behind me. I face the wall but it’s so dark in Solas’s flat that I cannot even see my hands in front of my face. There’s sharp, stinging pain down below, and Solas is pressed up tight against me. I pretend to still be asleep as his hands press heavily down on my hips as he selfishly takes his pleasure. The pain is sharp, like I’m being pulled apart, but I’m loathe to cry, knowing he will not like it if I do. Instead I lie as still as possible as he ploughs into me, harder and harder, my head occasionally knocking against the wall. I bite the inside of my cheek as hard as possible and count numbers in my head to distract myself and ignore the sensations. I know this is wrong - I do - but it’s become such a regular occurrence of when we meet that I let him get on with it. That way, it will be over sooner. It will be easier. Quicker. Over and done with.

His release is rough and swift and I thank the Creators that it’s over, my eyes tight shut as I pretend to sleep. I feel him shuffle on the narrow bed, feel his hot breath on my cheek and I pray that he cannot see that I’m awake. My stomach churns in anxiety, the bile rising in my mouth, but he lies back down with a sigh and soon begins snoring. I lie still, sleep evading me as I'm wide awake, tasting blood as I bite my lip so hard it bleeds.

I wait and wait until I hear the distant chime of a distant chantry clock sounding five times. I shuffle in the bed and slide out the bottom, Solas not stirring, his snores louder. I find my pyjama bottoms on the foot of the bed and pull them on, hating the cold sticky fluid stuck to my thighs. The same bile rises from my gut again, but I stifle a cough and slip out of the room and pad lightly towards the bathroom.

The bathroom is tiny and in dire need of a good clean, but I run the bath, the warm water so inviting. I peer out of the steamy window, wiping it with my palm and look out at the city below where lights are just turning on and people are stirring to open their first Satinalia presents. I fight back the tears, feeling a strange emptiness as I shuffle out of my sleepwear and step into the scalding hot bath, knowing that it’s burning my skin, but compared to the pain in-between my legs, it’s a welcome distraction.

I wash slowly at first, using the hard bar of soap as gently as possibly over my skin. But as I continue, I feel desperate and angry at myself. Is this what all relationships are like? They can’t be, can they? In the books I’ve read, the movies I’ve watched, they call it love making. But this isn’t like that - there’s no delicate intimacy, just an urgent need I don’t reciprocate. I scrub hard at my skin, rub the bar roughly in between my thighs, craving the cleanliness, an urge to be rid of every spot of skin where he has touched me, abused me.

Abused? I still, my soapy hands, falling in the water. Am I abused? I do not know. We are in a relationship, so that’s consent, isn't it? I shake my head. I have to get out. I must get out.

I jump out of the bath, the sky now lighter. I hear the chantry bell chime seven o’clock and so I quickly dry and dress myself in the living room, where my suitcase has been opened and rummaged through. I silently thank myself for giving the cards I had given Cullen and Dorian to them back in Skyton, rather than after, otherwise I know Solas would’ve flipped if he found out.  I search for my familiar jeans and a warm jumper and sit on the sofa, hugging my knees, flicking through the early morning television channels, waiting for him to wake and pretend we’re a normal, perfect couple celebrating Satinalia together.

It’s many hours later - almost midday - when Solas finally saunters into the living room, a small, poorly wrapped gift in his hands.

“Happy Satinalia,” he says with a yawn, passing it to me.

I force a smile, my resolve of getting out fading as I mumble a humble ‘thank you’ and pull open the gift. I ignore my flicker of anger licking my stomach as the paper falls away to reveal a generic bubble bath gift set I know he probably picked up from the supermarket last night. My hand reaches up and plays with the little book charm Cullen gave me and I ignore the flutter that thought gives me.

Solas’s eyes follow my hand and he frowns. “Where did you get that?”

I gulp, terror freezing me to the seat. “It was a Satinalia gift from a friend,” I reply.

“Which friend?”

“Does it matter?”

“Which. Friend,” he repeats, voice firm.

I avoid his gaze as I stand. “It was from… Dorian,” I lie, hating the way it tastes on my mouth, knowing that the truth would be much worse.

He steps so close to me I can feel his breath on my forehead, making me squirm involuntary. He grasps my wrists, holding them tight and forcing them in front of me, so I have no choice but to look at him.

“Are you cheating on me with that Tevinter man?” he demands, voice rising.

Despite being terrified of his demeanour, I force back the laughter at the thought. “I’m pretty sure I’m not Dorian’s type.”

He shakes me. “What the fuck does that mean?”

I glare at him. “Solas, you’re scaring me.”

“Tell me the truth!” he shouts.

“I am!” I cry, the tears spilling from the corners of my eyes. He pushes me away in disgust and I sink on the sofa, sobbing, ignoring my bruised wrists.

“You’re a filthy fucking liar, you know that?” he hisses.

I ignore him, my crying wracking my body as I shake, the sobs coming thick and fast. I rock on the sofa, trying to take deep breaths, but not wanting to. He sits next to me, waiting for me to stop but I cannot. I want to slip away, to disappear and not feel this, but he takes my hand firmly and I look at him. I see his stern jaw jut forward as he controls his obvious anger. I look into his grey eyes, scared of what I’ll see, but I finally slow my breathing, fight for a deep steadying breath.

“You know I love you, right?” he says.

Instantly I nod in reply. It’s a well rehearsed move.

“I love you so much that I cannot stand the thought of you not being with me,” he continues.

“Can you see how you receiving a gift from another man might make me feel?”

I suck in a shaking breath and nod again, not daring to speak.

“I can't even think about losing you. Of your being with someone else. It makes me sick.”

“Solas, I'm not cheat-” I begin, but he cuts me off.

“I’m not finished,” he glares, then does something so strange, so out of character that I stop crying completely. He tucks a strand of my hair behind my ear. Like that couple I saw the night before. I watch him closely. “I just… we have to stay as a couple, to prove those school friends wrong, that distances can work. But you need to trust me.” His voice is low.

He leans forward and kisses me. I keep my eyes open as I watch him close his, watch him wrap his arms around me, steal kiss after kiss, even though my face is wet, even though the tears are falling fresh. I let him continue. I know I cannot object, that I do not want more bruises. I submit as I sob silently, closing my eyes, not wanting to see how he’s taking advantage of me, pushed down on the sofa. His hands are unpleasantly rough, tugging my jeans down, gripping my arms tight with one hand as I try to keep my legs shut. He forces them open and takes me and this time I do cry and it’s oh, so much worse that it was this morning, but I cannot keep hold of my resolve any longer.

I lie on my side on the sofa, watching a cheesy Fereldan Satinalia comedy, but I’m not paying attention. I feel empty, like there’s a void inside me. I don’t want to move. Lying here, not feeling and not thinking is a relief and a break. I need to feel nothing as it’s better than feeling anything else right now.

My phone buzzes in my pocket and I glance at the caller ID. It’s my sister, Fallow. My thumb hovers over the ‘answer’ button, but I ignore it. I think if I spoke to my sister now I would break down and Solas will return from the kitchen and listen to each fake word I say to her. I don’t want to lie to Fallow, but it’s becoming more and more difficult to avoid.

Solas walks back into the living room, a plate of food in his hands and flops on the adjacent sofa. My phone buzzes in my pocket and he glances over.

“Who’s that?” he asks, as casual as he likes.

I sit up, careful that my phone screen is away from him, no way he can see what my lock screen says. I glance at the notifications - three missed calls from Fallow, two texts from Dorian, an instant message from Cassandra and Sera and a text from Cullen. I press my lips together, the lie forming naturally.

“Just a text from my sister, wishing us both a Happy Satinalia.”

He grunts in reply and resumes eating his snack, believing me. I unlock my phone and quickly read each message:

<Cassandra> [Hey, hope you’re having a nice Satinalia! It’s just me and Dorian here today, and his cooking is awful. Cullen might visit later, if I can drag him away from work! Hope you’re back soon!x]

I smile at her words, wishing that I was there, celebrating with them. I try to imagine sitting around the small table in the house with Cassandra, Dorian and Cullen, a bottle of wine open and burnt food on our plates. I imagine we would all be laughing and making ridiculous toasts. It makes me feel warm and I have this intense sense of longing. I squeeze my eyes tight shut, forcing the images out of my head. I read the next message.

<Sera> [hey you i’m coming to Denerim tomorrow - wanna hang out??]

I glance at Solas who is watching the film with a disinterested expression. Do I want to hang out with Sera? Yes. Do I want to hang out with her here? No, not here. I don't want anyone to know about this place. I decide to leave the message for now, and work out the best time to bring it up with Solas and see when he thinks I’ll be able to see her. So I move on to my texts.

<Dorian P.> [Merry Satinalia my darling Lyla! Lots of love!xx]

This is followed by:

<Dorian P.> [We miss you dearly. Please come back soon. Cassandra and Cullen have just hit the wine and can’t keep up with me. I’m embarrassed for them. xx]

Chuckling, I glance at the tv at a humorous moment, and Solas laughs too (probably thinking I’m enjoying the film). I turn back to my phone and hesitate as my finger hovers over Cullen’s unread message. I’m not sure why, but seeing his name with a message to me makes my stomach do a strange twist that’s not unpleasant. It’s a nice sensation. I chew my lip and open it, which was sent a few hours ago.

<Cullen (from work) Rutherford.> [I tried that coffee you got me this morning and it was amazing! Thanks again. Hope you’re having a good time in Denerim. x]

I don’t even hesitate as I hit reply.

[Hey, happy Satinalia! Glad you enjoyed the coffee. I’m watching that awful Ferelden comedy about nugs on tv. It’s painful. x]

Moments later, my phone buzzes a reply from Cullen and my hands feel clammy as I open it up.

<Cullen (from work) Rutherford.> [haha, that film is an annual tradition here. we got a drinkhing game to go with it. You should try it!!]

I punch a reply, a smile tracing my lips. [I think a drinking game would certainly improve it. I’ll participate next year, promise! x]

<Cullen (from work) Rutherford.> [I’m gigoing to hold yyou to that promiseee!! xxx]

I stare at my phone, at Cullen’s slurred responses and try not to burst out laughing, my heart feeling light. It’s not hard to miss those extra crosses at the end of the text. I quickly lock my phone and slide it back in my pocket, as I feel Solas’ eyes on me.

“Something funny?” Solas asks, voice low, dangerous, threatening.

I shake my head. “Fallow just told me that a step cousin just ran into a room singing in nothing but an apron. It’s so bizarre,” I lie. Well, it’s half the truth - that did happen one year.

Solas rolls his eyes at my extended family’s antics, but then laughs at something funny on the tv. As the film breaks for adverts, I approach the subject of returning to Skyton.

“Um... I think I’ll have to head back to Skyton tomorrow, Solas.” I hold my breath.

He doesn’t even look at me. “Tomorrow? Yeah ok.”

I blink. That easy? “You sure?”

“Mmmhmm, I’ve got some friends to see tomorrow anyway.”

A wave of cold washes over me. “Oh,” I say. Was he hoping I would leave tomorrow anyway? And here I had been sat, worrying over leaving early. I’m not sure what, but I push my luck.

“I think it will have to be first thing in the morning. Just want to get on the road before the bad traffic,” I explain, keeping my voice as neutral as possible.

He nods. “Sure.”

I let out my held breath slowly and pull out my phone, opening Sera’s message.

[Hey, I’m driving back to Skyton tomorrow afternoon, want a lift home? I’ll meet you in town at 10am?]

Solas doesn’t need to know I'm leaving early to meet a friend before going home. Telling him would cause more trouble than it’s worth. Sera’s reply is quick.

<Sera> [yayyyy! and yea a lift would be perf. see you tomorrowwwwwww!!!!!!]

My feelings are returning. I just have to stay here for one more night and then I’m free to go back to the life I’m starting to love, away from Solas.

[heartslogos]

send the morning [25]

The two elves look like they’re caught in an stare off. Varric isn’t exactly sure who’s winning, exactly.

“It would probably help if you didn’t look mad all the time, Mystery Man,” Varric says. “And, Chuckles, would it kill you to look less judgmental?”

“I can’t help how I look,” Lavellan responds. Solas raises an eyebrow.

“Forgive me, Varric, but my experiences with the Dalish as a whole haven’t been overly good. Perhaps today might be the day where, yes it does kill me.”

“Are you actually that angry, though?” Varric says to Lavellan.

“At some level, yes, I am always angry,” Lavellan says. The stare off presumably ends because Solas steps aside and Lavellan gives him a wide berth as he enters the hut to put down his small pack of stuff.

“How angry are you right now?” Varric asks. Lavellan’s response is a grunt.

“Charming fellow, isn’t he?” Solas says giving a sardonic smile, “Is it because I’m the only other foreign elf in this village?”

“Sort of,” Varric says, “He insisted on a place where he could have a view of the forest.”

Solas’ eyebrows raise up. “He wanted a view.”

Varric raises his hands. “They wouldn’t let him camp at the tree line. Too suspicious, I guess. I think they want to keep an eye on him.”

“I understand wanting to be away and close to an escape route,” Solas says, “But a view?”

“You’d have to ask him about it. Should I leave you two to it? If I come back to visit will there only be one of you around and a suspicious mound of freshly turned dirt?”

Solas hums.

“That was meant to be an exaggeration.”

“Art imitates reality, and such.”

-

“Hey, we’re back,” Bull says, “What’s up? Sera said you needed to talk to me. Something wrong, Boss?”

Evelyn looks up at him. “Bull.”

He tilts his head, “Yeah? You alright? You look worried. More so than usual. Something happen while we were on assignment? As an aside - we found dragon tracks. I’m pretty sure if you don’t go for it that herah’s going to grab some guys and go herself.”

“Another one?” Evelyn shakes her head, “No, wait. That’s not what - don’t distract me. Bull, something has come to light that I need your help with.”

“Alright,” Bull sits down across from her, resting his arms on the table and giving her his full attention.

Before Evelyn can even start thinking about how to ask him if he’s seen Ellana in a courtship with anyone, the woman darts in through a nearby open window, looking around before darting over to them.

Ellana curls a hand around one of the leather straps that goes around Bull’s chest and tugs.

“Can it wait?” Bull says turning to her, “The Boss is trying to talk to me about something.”

Ellana continues to tug.

“It’s about Ellana, actually,” Evelyn says nervously picking at a hangnail. It’s a terrible habit that she’s gotten back into recently. She thought her tutors had beaten it out of her, but it turns out that she just wasn’t stressed enough for it to rear its head.

Ellana groans and hits her head against Bull’s shoulder.

Bull’s eyebrows raise.

Ellana leans in close to him and whispers something in his ear. Bull’s eyebrows raise further and he turns to look at her, “Well shit, kadan. Didn’t think that would happen. Sorry, I guess.”

Bull turns to Evelyn, “It’s me. The guy you’re looking for is me. I should’ve been more careful; I didn’t think it’d be that big a deal.”

Ellana sits next to the Iron Bull and rests her cheek on her hand - the other hand still loosely curled into the leather strap, “I said yes; I don’t mind.”

Evelyn stares at Ellana. Ellana slowly sticks the tip of her tongue out.

“I mean, now I know you can talk,” Evelyn says, “But somehow I still don’t expect it.”

Ellana blows a raspberry and then puts her head down on the table, making small burbling noises.

“So,” Bull says, “Anything else you wanted to talk about, boss? Because if we’re talking about relationships I’ve got a bet going with the others about when you and Cullen are finally going to - “

“Okay, we’re done here, go rest up, Bull. You can report in later,” Evelyn quickly stands up, “I’m going to go uh. I’m just going to go now.”

-

“Is your uncle okay?” Dorian asks, “He’s been - well. He’s been quiet. I know that seems like an odd thing to say, but he’s been quiet.”

“It’s just getting close to the death anniversary of some important people,” Malika answers, quickly finishing off tying some rope to secure supplies meant for the Approach to the cart. Malika rests her hand on the canvas that covers the crates of materials. “He’ll be alright, he just - he just gets really nostalgic around this time. I think he and I are probably going to go out when the day gets here. Not far, probably just away.”

“May I ask who’s death?” Dorian says.

“His wife,” Malika says, and then carefully, “And their husband.”

Dorian blinks, raising a finger and makes a quick diagram in the air, as if to sketch out the schematics of that relationship.

“They were really nice,” Malika says, “They died about twelve years back. I was seven or eight when it happened. But I still remember them. They were really nice people. Uncle Brom always made me a cake whenever I visited. His cakes were the best. Aunt Isolde would always say that he was trying to make me into a ball.”

“I’m sorry for the loss,” Dorian says, “They sound like warm people.”

“They were,” Malika nods, “Uncle Edric hasn’t really been the same since they died. I mean, it’s not like he’s totally different or anything. He’s just more tired, I guess.”

“The loss of a loved one, no matter how far past, is something that always drains part of you a little gray,” Dorian says.

“I’m sorry about Felix,” Malika takes Dorian’s hand, “His dad was a complete reckless asshole. But I can kind of understand. Felix was brave. He sounds warm, too.”

“Thank you,” Dorian squeezes her hand. “The world is a little colder without them, but we go on.”